The Affable Mutt was the only place you could stop for a drink without being bothered by the Amish.

That wasn’t the worst problem after Y2K. But it did stick in Gerald’s craw. He’d thought the “end of the world” would be a more dramatic affair. Instead he was left dealing with inflated egos propped up by their lucrative butter trade.

The promised future didn’t include rival carriage makers or barn builders. All his life Gerald had been told about flying cars and space travel. They’d barely made it past jeggings and Limp Bizkit before everything went south.